Mirror Me
by me malum
Summary: It was magic, it had gone emphatically wrong, but there was no way this could be called England's fault. Drabble.


Just a snippet I had lying around. Originally planned it to be longer, but stands well enough on its own. Oh, and if anyone here's seen Red Dwarf, season two, they'll know where I was going with this ;)

**Disclaimer- **I wish.

Enjoi.

* * *

It wasn't England's fault.

It was magic, it had gone _emphatically _wrong, but there was no way this could be called England's fault.

"This is all your fault!" America yelled, pointing down the table. Then, "What did you even _do_?"

England, as stunned as the rest of the table, had nothing to say but "...gah?"

The five girls on the table were coming to, twitching and blinking their eyes open.

"What did I drink?" One of them muttered, holding her head. Another was cursing fluidly in mandarin, words that made China blush as he heard.

"Girls! Important question- where are we and who are _they_?" A third was near hysterical, gesturing wildly to the room and its five male occupants.

A forth was also looking at the male occupants, but her gaze was less wild and more predatory. "Do we care?" She asked sultrily, the French accent coming through strong.

It didn't take a genius to put it together, but England checked the final woman for confirmation. "Christ, she even has the tap," he muttered, seeing it clasped in what he would bet were _deceptively_ feminine hands.

America was still screaming in the background. "Seriously Iggy, what did you do?! Who are they? Where did they come from?"

"Shut up!" Two voices, eerily in sync, shouted back.

England met the eyes of his female doppelganger and smiled ruefully. "Hangover?" he asked idly.

"What do you fucking think?" She replied. "The shouting's just making my headache worse." A hand came up to massage her temple, and England noticed with a growing sense of horror that her nails were trimmed neatly and buffed to a high shine, like the frog's always were.

The _male_ frog's, for that matter.

"Least you got to enjoy the alcohol first," he muttered. "I've just got the headache."

She shrugged neutrally, glancing around the rest of the room. "1066?" she asked suddenly.

A growl and a terse nod was an adequate reply. "Agincourt?" He shot back, matching her dark grin.

"1776?" Her voice was softer; he knew it hurt her like it still hurt him.

"Bonaparte?" He quickly moved on to other, happier keystones in their history.

"1918?" Was her last inquiry, and he nodded once, before a look of confusion crossed his face.

"Wait a minute. In 1918, women were just granted limited suffrage. How did you get your point heard before that?"

She looked indignant. "_Women_ were granted suffrage? They've been voting since the inception of Parliament; it's men who had to fight for equal rights."

"Huh." He wondered a moment, then neatly summarised his thoughts. "So our histories are identical, except-"

"-men and women's roles are reversed," she finished for him. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

England blinked rapidly, trying to imagine a world led by women. "Christ, I need a drink," he muttered, then stared as his counterpart hitched up her skirt, revealing a thigh holster and a hip flask secured to it. She passed it over with a wink.

"Old trick from Harriet," she explained, as he took a hearty gulp. "Did you have her? Six husbands, three children?"

"Henry," he clarified, feeling the conversation get more and more surreal. "Six _wives_, three successors."

"How did he get away with treating them like that?" She sounded scandalised. England raised an eyebrow and she picked up on the hypocrisy of her statement. "Oh."

They eyed each other, then blurted out the other name that was burning in each of their minds.

"Elizabeth."

"Edward."

"Third child?" He tried, to avoid confusion.

"First king I ever loved," she said softly.

"The same. Didn't marry despite the pressures on her. Said she'd never love a man like she loved her country." He passed the flask back after one last mouthful, "to them," he toasted.

She drank the dregs from the bottom, toasting him back. "To them," she echoed.

America's gaze flew between the two of them, eyes wild. "Seriously, _what is going on_?!"

* * *

Just a little bit of silliness XD


End file.
